


A Proper Celebration

by greenstuff



Series: Places We Otherwise Wouldn't Go [3]
Category: Burnt (2015)
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenstuff/pseuds/greenstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Michelin Guide for 2017 comes out, Adam acts like it’s not a big deal. They’ve managed to hold on to their stars so far and he’s doing an almost convincing job of pretending he has zero doubt of their continued supremacy. But the minute Tony enters the kitchen with the small book held loosely in one hand and a guarded expression on his face, Adam’s stomach drops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for everyone who has taken the time to leave a comment. Your kind words and love of these two are a true inspiration. Thank you so much!
> 
> This is set two years after the movie, approximately 6 months after I Can Give You This.

 

**A Proper Celebration**

When the Michelin Guide for 2017 comes out, Adam acts like it’s not a big deal. They’ve managed to hold on to their stars so far and he’s doing an almost convincing job of pretending he has zero doubt of their continued supremacy. But the minute Tony enters the kitchen with the small book held loosely in one hand and a guarded expression on his face, Adam’s stomach drops.

Tony tilts his head towards his office in silent communication and Adam calls for Helene to take over at the pass before following Tony out of the earshot of his staff. “Well?” Adam braces his hands against the back of a chair and watches Tony’s face, no longer hiding the mounting stress.

“We kept our stars.”

“Jesus, Tony!” Adam breathes out. “You didn’t need to pull me in here to tell me that you know.”

Tony’s face is tight. “That’s not why…” He holds the guide open and passes it to Adam.

“ _Le Vainqueur_ , one star.” It takes a moment before Adam’s brain catches up to his eyes and he realizes just whose restaurant that is.

“It’s unbelievable!” Tony’s hands are clashed together, the thumb of his left stroking the center of his right as if to try and calm him. “Michel steals a quarter of the staff at Jean Luc’s to start his own restaurant in Paris because he’s jealous of your success, and then when the _testa di cazzo_ fails, he sabotages you in your own kitchen.” Tony’s eyes flash at the injustice of it all and his cheeks are flushed.

Adam watches Tony rant about the absurdity of the Michelin system and “Anders Evans, jumped-up pillock, trying to buy class by funding that _schweinebacke_!” and he's smiling because he's not angry. It doesn’t matter. He got his stars, all three of them, and more importantly, he has _this_.

"I love you." He says it without ceremony. Like the fact that it is. But it still halts Tony mid-word, mouth stuck halfway through the second syllable of rat-arsed and Adam is reminded of the very first time he kissed Tony, in his hotel room, bruised and damaged and just so full of gratitude he couldn't help himself and Tony just stood there, looking like he looks now, afraid that when he blinks everything will disappear. Only instead of "thank you," this time when Tony's shock breaks he says "I love you too, but that's not why I think Michel is a numpty tosser," in this exasperated voice as if it’s the hundredth and not the first time, and Adam can’t help but grasp Tony’s face with both hands and cut off any further ranting with a kiss.

Tony melts into him, mouth opening, hands scrabbling at Adam’s chest, back, ass, as if he can’t decide what part he wants to touch most before landing in Adam’s hair. Adam has never been so keenly aware that half the office is glass. He wants to spread Tony out on the desk, take his time stripping each piece of Tony’s immaculate suit off and make it very clear how much he meant those words, but there’s the lunch service to finish and an entire staff on the other side of the transparent wall waiting to learn if they succeeded.

Adam breaks the kiss reluctantly, but stays as close to Tony as he can. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.”

Tony lets out a shaky breath that’s almost laughter. “Probably not the time or place.”

Their eyes lock and Adam can feel how much Tony wants him too. He knows he should step back, let air fill the space between them, there’s time for everything else when they’re free of curious eyes, but he can’t tear his eyes away. His hands have dropped to rest against Tony’s chest and he fingers Tony’s tie, smoothing out imaginary creases with one hand.

“We should…”

Adam nods. “Yeah, we should…”

Tony’s eyes crinkle. “Congratulations Adam Jones.”

It takes Adam a moment to remember he had been worried about the Michelin guide release. He tugs gently at Tony’s tie, pulling him into another kiss. He meant it to be gentle, closed lips, more about joy and gratitude and love than lust, but he’s flying high and he can’t help but suck Tony’s lower lip into his mouth, eliciting a moan.

“It’s not the time, but this is definitely the place.” He murmurs against Tony’s lips before finally forcing himself to step back. “Tonight.” He says placing one hand on the door, “We’ll have a real celebration.”

He pulls the door open and steps into the madness of his kitchen. For a moment he stands still, taking it in. When there is a brief lull between the last main course dish going out and the first dessert ticket’s arrival Adam tells his kitchen they’ve kept their stars. He doesn’t mention that Michel’s restaurant won its first. It doesn’t matter. Michel can win three stars for all Adam cares, because it isn’t about winning or fireworks or immortality anymore. Cooking isn’t life and death, it’s just life. And Adam’s life is looking pretty fucking good.

. . .

They don’t get to celebrate properly that night. At least not the way Adam really wanted to celebrate. Instead, the entire staff finds a bar and toasts their success until the wee hours of the morning and by the time he and Tony stumble into Adam’s room at the Langham Tony is too wobbly legged and full of gin for Adam to have his way with him. They fall into bed in a tangle of limbs and kiss lazily until Tony drifts off to sleep, one hand clenching the collar of Adam’s t-shirt, holding him close.

Adam wakes early and sneaks down to the kitchen to whip up a frittata and a carafe of coffee so that when Tony wakes, squinty eyed and grumbly as he is after one too many drinks, there will be breakfast and caffeine to greet him. He had plans, and he was not about to let the night of celebration with his staff cock block him two nights in a row.

“You know I can actually cook.” Tony grumbles good-naturedly when Adam sets a tray with the frittata and coffee beside him on the bedside table.

“Shut up and eat your fucking eggs.”

Tony takes a bite and chews slowly. “I’ve had better.”

Adam laughs. Once a comment like that, even in jest, would have rankled, but not anymore, and definitely not from Tony. For the first time in his life Adam knows he is exactly as good as he thinks he is, and while he will never stop striving to be better, he has finally learned to be content. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight.” Adam repeats.

Tony blushes.

It's sweet really, the way Tony still hasn't grown accustomed to how much Adam wants him. A lot has changed for Adam in the last two years, his belief that sex and food both need to be exciting and maybe a little dangerous to be great hasn't. No matter if everything he does with Tony feels fucking phenomenal even if it's just curling around him, chest to back and letting the steady rhythm of Tony’s breathing lull him into sleep - Adam can't shake an instinctual fear of monotony. Consistency is death. So no matter if Tony will flush, be flustered and probably try to stammer his way out of it (Adam can practically hear Tony murmuring something about appropriate work/sex boundaries and the existence of a perfectly serviceable bed upstairs in the room they’ve more or less been sharing for months), Adam is determined to keep things interesting. And what could possibly be more interesting than pressing Tony back against that frosted glass and making him cry out so loud it echoes off the empty kitchen, or leaning up against the desk and letting Tony fuck him until he comes all over a stack of tonight’s menus.

. . .

In group, Adam has been actively working on his control issues. While a self-indulgent, smitten part of him wishes he could say that his willingness to let Tony take control of him in their private lives means he has overcome this serious personality flaw, he’s also learning not to lie to himself. So he is making an effort to give control of the pass away at least two services each week. Helene is so competent that Adam is almost able to focus on just his station when she takes over; Max, likewise, raises Adam’s blood pressure only about as much as a good streak dinner; but he can never quite get used to giving David any power despite two years’ worth of evidence that the young man is incredibly competent – even if his voice and his hands always seem to shake just the smallest amount when he feels rushed.

Today, Adam can’t quite concentrate on anything properly so he puts David at the pass so at least he has something concrete his nervous energy on.

“Two lamb, one scallops, and one duck confit,” David’s voice calls out the next ticket.

A chorus of “Yes Chef,” echoes around the kitchen, Adam’s voice among them.

Tony seems to share Adam’s overabundance of energy. He only comes into the kitchen twice during the service, but both times he seems almost completely lost. The first time it is as if he forgot why he was there, walking into the office, staring at his desk for nearly ten seconds before shaking his head, picking up a folder and walking out without looking Adam’s way once. The second time he nearly upended a plate of scallops.

After the scallops, Tony stays in the dining room.

For his part, Adam can’t stop his eyes, or his mind, from straying towards the office or the things he plans to do in there. He thinks he may have Max take the pass at dinner and relegate himself to desserts. It will be strange passing an entire day without being personally in charge of the service, but Dr. Rosshilde will be proud of his progress. Well, if he leaves out the fact that he gave up this control because he was meticulously planning a night of sex with Tony so every detail would be perfect. She probably wouldn’t be too thrilled that he’s indulging in a perfectionist fantasy – or about knowing the details of her good friend Tony’s sex life.

Lunch passes without a single incident. David handles the pass like he’s been doing it for years instead of the few snatched opportunities he has had since coming to work for Adam. Adam congratulates him, and is amused that despite witnessing Adam at his best and near his worst, the kid still seems to think Adam is a kind of culinary rock star.

Between lunch service and pre-prep family-style dinner, Adam retreats to the office. He has the menus done for the next week, but there are always bits of work to do to ensure ordering and scheduling are running smoothly. He is also hoping to corner Tony. As much as he enjoyed seeing how flustered Tony was during the service, Adam missed the few minutes of contact they usually carved out for one another. He wanted Tony, but their connection went so much beyond the physical attraction. Tony was his best friend as well as his lover. And he missed talking as much as touching when they were apart.

“You are a terrible influence, you know that?” Tony’s voice from over his shoulder brings a smile to Adam’s face.

Tony closes the door and Adam waits until he hears it shut before fixing his eyes on Tony’s face and saying, “If you didn’t insist on glass walls in this office I would fuck you right now.”

“Terrible.” Tony says, though the way his eyes rake over Adam’s body make it clear he wouldn’t object at all. Instead of moving straight to the empty chair on the other side of the desk, Tony steps close to where Adam is sitting on pretense that he needs to reach something just on the other side of his chef. He places one hand on Adam’s shoulder, his fingers seeking out the bare skin of Adam’s neck.

The touch only lasts a few seconds but it’s enough to completely derail Adam’s concentration. Each finger is a bright, hot point against his skin that lingers long after Tony has retreated to the other side of the small office.

. . .

Though there are many points when it feels to Adam it never will, the dinner service ends eventually. By the time Max leaves Adam is half ready to abandon his plan to make use of every surface in the office and just demand Tony come to bed, _now_ , but then he looks across the immaculate kitchen and sees Tony sitting at the desk, doing a convincing impression of someone with so much work he will have to work half the night and the desire to mark every square foot of the space as _theirs_ overwhelms his immediate need to get off on or in Tony as quickly as possible.

He leans against the door frame and watches Tony for a silent moment before asking in a teasing voice: “Working late?”

“My chef insists I keep the same hours he does.” Tony responds dryly, putting whatever he was working on inside the top drawer of the desk.

“And you let him get away with that?”

“He has three Michelin stars.”

Adam smirks.

“And a rather fantastic ass.” Tony adds with a smirk of his own.

Adam doesn’t bother to close the door behind him when he steps fully inside the office. They’re on their own, even if someone at the front desk heard they knew better than to investigate a sound in the kitchen at this time of night. He crosses the room and before Tony can make a move, Adam has turned Tony’s chair and planted one hand on each arm, trapping Tony in place with his body. He smiles into Tony’s eyes. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Tony returns. His eyes are warm, filled with the love that Adam realizes has been there for years.

Adam kisses him softly, but the gentle hello kiss deepens quickly, breaking only because it really isn’t a particularly comfortable position. Adam breaks away and pulls Tony to his feet before moving back in, pressing Tony back until the shorter man’s back is against the wall. Adam runs his hands through Tony’s hair, mussing the always well-kept locks.

When he had been daydreaming about tonight Adam had thought he would blow Tony first, dropping to his knees and feeding Tony down his throat until he could barely draw breath and work him until Tony was quivering under all the sensation. But now that he’s here, plastered against Tony, his tongue exploring the hot, delicious depths of Tony’s mouth, Adam doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Tony to be putty in his hands, he wants Tony to take control, to take Adam hard and fast until they were both spent.

“I’ve been wanting this all day,” He whispers against Tony’s lips, his cheek, his ear. “I want you to take me. Now.” He reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, knowing the faster he strips the faster Tony can be in him.

Tony pushes Adam’s hands away. “This is your big night, let me take care of you.” He slides his hands under Adam’s shirt, ghosting over his abs, up and out over his pecs, his thumbs flicking at Adam’s nipples. The fabric of Adam’s t-shirt catches on Tony’s wrists, bunching up slowly, exposing Adam’s flesh. Tony bends forward and presses an open mouthed kiss against Adam’s sternum. His tongue darts out, licking a quick stripe of wetness against Adam’s skin. “Raise your arms.” He commands softly, not moving his mouth away.

Adam lifts his arms above his head and lets Tony push his t-shirt up over his head. Tony’s hands cup around Adam’s arms, his touch so delicate it nearly tickles, raising goosebumps all over Adam’s body. As his hands push Adam’s shirt up, over his head, past his elbows, Tony trails hot, wet kisses up Adam’s chest, along the column of his throat, until at last the shirt drops to the floor and their lips meet.

Adam’s hands immediately move to loosen Tony’s tie, but Tony grabs them, lacing their fingers and effectively stopping Adam from doing anything up kissing Tony back. Eventually, when Adam is starting to feel lightheaded from desire – or probably a lack of oxygen – Tony breaks the kiss.

His voice is almost a whisper, but there is steel in it. “Turn around.”

Adam complies. He doesn’t try to help when Tony reaches around him to unbutton his pants. Instead he lets his body relax against Tony’s. The cashmere of Tony’s suit feels soft and cool against his back and he wishes he’d insisted Tony get naked immediately. He wants skin on skin. But for now at least he’s willing to let Tony set the pace. Great sex is dangerous, and for Adam Jones there is nothing more dangerous than surrender.

“Take off your shoes and socks, but don’t turn around.” Tony commands, stepping away, leaving Adam’s back suddenly cold.

As Adam removes his shoes and socks, and kicks free of his briefs and trousers he can tell by the rustle behind him that Tony has removed his jacket. The temptation to turn around, to watch each inch of skin as it is revealed, is nearly overwhelming, but Tony told him to stay facing the kitchen and so he does.

Standing there, naked, listening to the telltale sounds of his lover removing jacket, tie, shirt, belt, shoes, pants, in that order, the same way he does every night, and looking out over his domain, almost painfully hard from a day of wanting and frustratingly not getting, Adam wonders if the sight of their restaurant laid out before them is turning Tony on as much as it is him.

“Tell me what you want.” Tony’s breath is hot against Adam’s neck. He’s so close Adam can feel heat radiating off Tony’s body even though they’re not touching at all.

In comparison, to Tony’s heat the room feels cool against his bare skin. He tries to lean back, to move into Tony’s warmth, but Tony matches his movements, maintaining that tantalizing, infuriating distance. “What do you want, Adam Jones?”

Adam bites back a whimper as Tony runs a single finger down his spine starting at his hairline and tracing a slow, straight path downwards. “Fuck me.”

Tony’s finger slides between Adam’s cheeks and pauses just above his hole. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Adam groans, pushing his hips back almost involuntarily against Tony’s finger. “I want you to bend me over the desk and fuck me so every time you sit in that chair and look out on the kitchen you can see me, spread out for you, hear me gasping your name as you fuck into me until I come just from the feeling of your cock buried in my ass.”

Tony lets out a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl and then he’s crowded up against Adam’s naked back, his cock hot and hard against Adam’s ass, his hands gripping Adam’s hips so tightly Adam thinks he will have finger shaped bruises in the morning.

And then Tony’s right hand is reaching past Adam and opening the top drawer of his desk and coming out with a tube of lube. Still pressed, hot and firm along Adam’s back, Tony spreads a generous amount of lube on two fingers, and then he’s smearing the slick substance in tight circles around Adam’s hole, finger tips dipping just far enough inside that Adam feels it before slipping back out. It’s a familiar dance as Tony works meticulously to prepare Adam.

Yet, even though this is something they have done so many times in the last year and a half that Adam has lost count, it feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the three stars, maybe it’s the sharp edge of the desk biting into Adam’s palms where he has braced himself against it, or maybe it’s the fact that he finally said it, those three little words that have been threatening to slip out for months, and Tony made it clear that he already knew and he returned the feeling entirely. Whatever it is, Adam doesn’t even try to control the litany of noises, sometimes curses, sometimes just wordless sounds, that pour from his mouth as Tony’s fingers stretch him open.

There is a keen sense of loss when Tony pulls his fingers out, once again reaching for the bottle of lube, but then it’s Tony’s cock nudging between his cheeks and Adam’s whole world seems to be contained in the feeling of Tony’s hot flesh pushing in until he’s completely filled and ten bright, hot spots that are Tony’s fingers gripping Adam’s hips.

“Tony, please just…” Adam pleads, hitching his hips backwards, driving Tony even deeper.

Tony doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulls back until he’s almost out and then snaps his hips forward. With each thrust against his prostate, Adam feels a rush of pleasure singing up his nerves until his entire body is trembling.

“Fuck.” Tony gasps, his pace quickening. “Adam you fucking gorgeous… fuck.” His thrusts become erratic and he takes Adam’s cock in one hand and begins to work it in time with his thrusts.

Bright spots dance across Adam’s vision as his muscles tighten and then he is coming over Tony’s hand and onto the edge of the desk.

Tony leans his head down, pressing his open mouth against Adam’s shoulder and with a final snap of his hips and a “Fucking, fuck, Adam!” he comes.

They don’t end up christening every surface in the office. But by the time they’ve wiped themselves and the room clean, which takes far longer than it would if they could keep their hands or moths to themselves, and put on enough clothes to get them upstairs without being arrested, Adam knows he will never be able to sit at that desk without remembering all of it: the repeat of their three stars, the mind blowing sex, and the way Tony’s “I love you” had sounded almost frustrated, as if being said in so many other ways for so long had worn it from a revelation to a fact no more interesting than “the sky is blue.”

Adam pushes Tony back against the side of the elevator and kisses him soundly. “I love you, Tony Belardi.”

Tony’s eyes are warm, amused. “I know.” He says, his lips twitching in an effort to hold back a smile, and he doesn’t need to say it back, because they both know he loves Adam too.

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with canon for Michel’s background. All we actually are told is that Michel is Adam’s sous chef and close friend and that he leaves to start his own restaurant which Adam interprets as a betrayal. Just based on my own experiences and the needs of this story, I’m choosing to believe Michel probably took some of the staff with him when he went. 
> 
> I’m also playing fast and loose with Tony’s background in terms of ethnicity. His last name strikes me as very Italian, though he sounds German, spent at least ten years in France, and lives in London. When it comes to language, I think he swears fluently in all four languages. If anyone remembers any actual details given in the movie or press around the movie that would help nail down where Tony grew up, that would be awesome.


End file.
